


A Matter of Time

by doodleishere



Series: Dulcianthe Brainrot [1]
Category: The Locked Tomb Trilogy | Gideon the Ninth Series - Tamsyn Muir
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Didn't Mean To Do That, F/F, I blame tumblr for this, and doesn't kill her so, cytherea only takes dulcinea's place like halfway through, ianthe is also nicer here than she is in canon, like it's mentioned but it's all suggestive, there was only one dulcianthe fic and i wrote this in a rush to get more than one out there, there's that, um non-explicit sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-13 13:13:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29776680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doodleishere/pseuds/doodleishere
Summary: It's only a matter of time before Dulcinea dies, really. Ianthe likes her anyway.
Relationships: Dulcinea Septimus/Ianthe Tridentarius
Series: Dulcianthe Brainrot [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2192139
Comments: 7
Kudos: 17





	A Matter of Time

**Author's Note:**

> i blame @ianthe-is-a-bitch-and-i-love-her on tumblr for getting me hooked on dulcianthe

**I. TWO YEARS BEFORE**

The trip to the Seventh wasn’t supposed to go like this.

Ianthe hadn’t set out to bed Dulcinea Septimus—it had just happened. One second, the Princesses of Ida were eating dinner with the Duchess of Rhodes, trying to secure an alliance that would mean nothing in two years’ time and meant next to nothing already. The next, Ianthe was admiring how the light caught on the purple hanging under Dulcinea’s eyes.

It was unfortunate, really, that Coronabeth had left shortly after to spar with Babs. (A silly habit she’d begun to pick up since deciding she would be more useful with a sword than nothing at all. Ianthe had tried to tell her not to waste her time. This was the one thing Corona would not listen to her about.) Then Ianthe had been without any impulse control, and it had simply spiraled from there.

The thoughts of what she had done with the necro of the Seventh House left Ianthe’s face hot.

She glanced over at Dulcinea next to her, sleeping. Dulcie’s chest, now covered partially by a nightgown that Ianthe had had the luxury of slipping off the owner’s shoulders, was rising without any set rhythm. Sometimes, the breaths were ragged. Sometimes, the breaths were not.

It was a shame that Dulcie was made to die.

Ianthe rose from the bed soundlessly, careful not to rustle the sheets. She shouldn’t have done this. Most of the moves she made were calculated, planned out—everything she did, she did to further herself and her sister. She did it all to keep herself and Corona alive and living their lie.

This hadn’t been for anybody’s sake. It had just been stupid.

Ianthe slipped her clothes back on and shut the door behind her without a sound.

She was allowed one stupid mistake. She was allowed one selfish thing, wasn’t she? (She hadn’t felt selfish, being with Dulcinea. She’d felt very giving, actually. The noises Dulcie had made had been proof of that.)

“There you are,” Corona crooned when Ianthe found her way to the shuttle. Her gleaming hair was in a half up, half down situation that Ianthe knew her own hair could never survive. Perhaps Babs had done it for her after their idiotic swordplay. He was always trying to do things like that, thoughtful things that would make Coronabeth’s heart seize upon seeing his face some day, if Corona only deigned to pay attention to him.

“Here I am,” Ianthe said, depositing herself in the seat next to her twin. She wondered when she’d appear at the Seventh House again. Probably never, she thought. The Third didn’t make a habit of visiting Houses it had no use for.

**II. ONE YEAR AND EIGHT MONTHS BEFORE**

Ianthe was back on the Seventh.

She’d convinced her parents that the Seventh needed another meeting with a representative of the Third—to iron out the terms of their agreement, of course. Not because Ianthe hadn’t been able to get the thought of an unclothed Dulcinea Septimus out of her head for months. Not because Ianthe imagined she was kissing Dulcinea whenever she was kissing anybody else. No, not because of that. Not at all because of that.

“Hi,” the duchess said, grinning up at Ianthe from a mobile chair Ianthe was _sure_ she hadn’t been using before. Ianthe would have noticed it. Dulcinea had been very… _mobile_ the last time they were in the same room.

“What happened?” Ianthe asked, forgetting entirely about manners.

“Ah,” Dulcinea said, looking down at her seating arrangements like she’d forgotten that Ianthe had never seen them before glancing back up at Ianthe underneath her lashes. Her eyes were more vibrant than Ianthe remembered, but that might have been because her face was paler as well. “Bad day today.”

“Oh,” Ianthe said, bristled slightly with embarrassment that she never typically felt. Dulcinea was _sick_. She was _dying_. And Ianthe had just flown over, uninvited, to see her.

“I don’t think I have the energy to repeat the last time you were here,” said Dulcinea, smirking a little.

“Unfortunate,” said Ianthe, feeling found out for the first time in her life.

Ianthe wanted to hurl herself from a balcony. She was sure she’d seen one on her way in. Just step on the railing and keep going. Anything to get out of the unfortunate situation she’d forced herself into. This is why she was never allowed to make decisions that didn’t help her and her sister both. This is why she wasn’t supposed to do things without Corona at her side.

“But you can keep me company.”

Ianthe raised an eyebrow, pretending to be bored. The only tell she had was that her face was tinged pink. (Corona blushed red, loud and obvious. Ianthe blushed pink, slightly more subdued. A small perk of necromancy.) “Sure.”

Ianthe stayed with Dulcinea for several days before boarding the shuttle to go home. Keeping her company in the vast palace. Talking with her about all the things they hadn’t talked about the first time around. Learning more about Dulcinea than she’d ever learned about anyone who wasn’t Corona.

She only kissed her once. (After a particularly frustrating appointment of Dulcinea’s that she had been informed contained words like _bronchioles_ and _hemoptysis_.)

It was the best several days of her life. She vowed to repeat it again.

**III. ONE YEAR BEFORE**

The trip to the Seventh wasn’t supposed to go like this.

“What are you saying?” Ianthe almost screamed, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes. She would not cry. Ida’s necromantic princess did not _cry_. She was above such things. She would not shed a tear over a _duchess_.

Dulcinea sighed, a pretty thing that Ianthe barely heard. “Ianthe, please—”

“Answer the question.”

“You know what I’m saying. I don’t have to explain it to you.”

Ianthe had many things that she wanted to do. What she wanted to do was reach out and snag Dulcinea’s fingers in her own. What she wanted to do was sob into Dulcinea’s collarbone and tell her not to end this. What she wanted to do was put her lips against Dulcinea’s and kiss a few more years of life into her.

Ianthe pulled her hands away from her eyes and folded them in her lap. She turned her body so she was facing Dulcinea more, and she looked into the other woman’s eyes like she was daring her to look away.

“I want you to say it,” Ianthe whispered harshly.

Today was supposed to be a good day. Ianthe was not one for special occasions usually, but for Dulcie…well, for Dulcie, she had made an exception. Their first encounter had been a year ago, to the day, and Ianthe had been taken over with affection at the thought of seeing her again, even though she’d seen her only six days prior. She had skipped an important lunch. She had skipped several important meetings. She had skipped shopping with Corona.

All so she could sit in Dulcinea Septimus’s room and be broken up with.

Dulcinea sighed again. She was full of those today. “I am going to die, Ianthe. It could be tomorrow. It could be two weeks from now. It could be two _years_ from now.”

“I knew that when I met you.”

Dulcie made a frustrated noise. “I don’t want you spending your youth on me.”

“I’m not _spending my youth_ —”

“We know how this ends, Ianthe!”

The room was silent, save for Dulcinea’s labored breathing and Ianthe’s breaking heart.

Ianthe being with Dulcinea had only become a problem because of that lovesick Sixth House fool and his latest lovesick letter. He wasn’t happy with the friendship he had with Dulcie, apparently—he wanted to _marry her_. And it had sent Dulcie into a spiral, one with Ianthe at its center.

Marry the woman Ianthe was in love with. She wanted to kill him for the audacity alone.

But it wouldn’t matter anymore what she thought.

“Fine,” Ianthe said, standing and picking up her coat from where she had placed it on top of Dulcinea’s bed. She shrugged it on gracefully without looking at it or at Dulcinea. She stared instead at her shoes, boots that her now ex-girlfriend had bought for her last birthday. They came up to just below her knees and were a pale brown color with intricate flower outlines stitched in a color about two or three shades darker. They were tacky. They were beautiful. They were Ianthe’s favorite pair of shoes.

Dulcie didn’t say another word.

“Fine,” Ianthe repeated, still looking at her shoes, and then she was gone.

**IV. ARRIVAL**

Seeing Dulcinea Septimus again was like being punched in the chest, kicked in the head, and impaled on a rapier all at once. Not that Ianthe was going to let on that she felt like this—no, she had a much better plan, one that involved not letting her ex in on how much she missed her.

Her goal at Canaan House was to become a Lyctor. Not to moon over Dulcinea like she’d done when she was younger. Besides, the necromancer of the Sixth House seemed keen enough to do the mooning for her; Dulcinea did not appear to be attempting to stop him.

Good for her. Good for him. Good for _them_.

Ianthe was not going to care. She was not going to cry over her lost love. Dulcie was probably going to die here at Canaan House, anyway, before either of them got the chance to reach Lyctorhood. She already had a pulmonary drain in her lungs. It was only a matter of time before the rest of her body gave up completely.

It was only a matter of time.

>>>

When Dulcinea left, Ianthe did not watch her shuttle go. She did not get one last glance at her. She did not wave goodbye to the only person she had ever loved.

She got another key and unlocked another door.

 _Horribly tragic_ , she overheard someone say about Dulcinea. The Fifth House necro, she thought, although she hadn’t been paying that much attention when she'd been walking down the hallway. The voice was smooth and reminded Ianthe of melted butter. It disgusted her. _She’s probably going to die on the ride back to her House._

Ianthe swallowed and went back to her theory and tried not to imagine Dulcinea, lying pale in a shuttle, unable to breathe.

>>>

Dulcinea was back. And she was being rude to the Sixth brat, which was, in Ianthe’s opinion, very fucking refreshing.

Why anyone had decided to send Dulcinea back was beyond her, though. When Ianthe caught a glimpse of her, she still looked bad, like she’d keel over any day. She still had her drain in. Her eyes, when she was wheeled past Ianthe into the house, looked different—brighter, with a slight variance in shade. Dulcie’s eyes were always more of a green, but this woman saying that she was Dulcinea had eyes that were bluer in appearance.

And the angles of her face weren’t completely right.

And the color of her hair was a shade off.

She could have been Dulcinea's twin, if Dulcinea's whole appearance hadn't been memorized by Ianthe from the night she first saw her.

>>>

Ianthe was a fucking genius.

She’d figured it out. How to attain Lyctorhood. All she had to do was eat her cavalier and use him as a battery for the rest of time. She could do that.

 _And_ she was right that Dulcinea actually wasn’t Dulcinea.

Ianthe was having a killer day, to be honest.

**V. ONE DAY AFTER**

“I ate him up.”

Silence.

“I figured it out, and then I ate him. And it felt fucking _great_.”

Silence.

“I also killed that bitch impersonating you. You’re welcome for that, by the way.”

Silence.

“Lost an arm in the process.”

Silence.

“Fine. The Ninth House _actually_ killed her. But I got her most of the way there. They just took the final hit.”

Silence.

“I wish you’d bloody wake up, Dulcie, so I know you’re hearing all of this.”

Silence.

“Fuck.”

Silence.

“I’ve got ten thousand years to figure out what to do with now. Fuck you and your _spending my youth_ bullshit.”

Silence.

“They should just turn off your machine, really.”

Silence.

“How much more can they take from you? You’re basically dead already.”

Silence.

" _Fuck_."

Silence.

**Author's Note:**

> listen. i don't write fics that make sense. that's not my style. this just kind of poured out of me. hope you enjoyed this because dulcianthe is my new favorite thing


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